A black celebration
by Potix
Summary: "Let's have a black celebration, tonight". A Sherlolly Halloween story.


**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

_**"Let's have a black celebration**_  
><em><strong>Black Celebration<strong>_  
><em><strong>Tonight"<strong>_

**Black Celebration - Depeche Mode**

"It was a dark and stormy night. The wind was howling, and the raindrops tapped violently against the windows. Only a candle's light in the empty room-".

"Oh for God's sake, please spare my brain cells! I don't understand why you're so adamant to tell an Halloween story to a ten months old infant, who certainly doesn't understand a word of what you're saying!".

Mary put down the heavy book, and whispered "I already shot you once, Sherlock. Don't tempt me to give you an encore…".

John Watson, always the peacemaker, interloped. "Kids, please…be quiet. Molly will arrive in a minute, and then we'll leave…". Then he turned to Mrs Hudson, who was entering the baby's room. "Are you sure you want to babysit Alice? We can still call and say we are not going...".

Mary's voice was low, but forceful. "No, we can't! It's my first outing since Alice's birth, I need a fun night, or I will be tempted to go to the firing range soon. I love my daughter, but…".

"I know, dear…". Mrs Hudson caressed her shoulder in a maternal fashion. "A baby is always hard work, she is so little but she can drain all your energy".

"How would you know? You're not a mother…". Sherlock retorted, toying with Alice's tiny hand.

"Sherlock!". Both John and Mary reprimanded him, but Mrs Hudson winked at them, not at all offended.

"You're right, I didn't give birth to a child…but I've been your landlady for more than ten years, I'm well accustomed to a little child's tantrums…".

Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little at her sharp reply. Their playful bickering stopped when they heard the doorbell.

"Oh, Molly, finally!". The Watsons rushed downstairs, and soon Molly's cheerful voice could be heard.

"I'm so late, I'm sorry, but I had a last-minute autopsy to finish". The pathologist apologised, and as she took a glimpse of Sherlock's figure descending the stairs, her gaze shone.

"Anything interesting at the morgue? A mysterious death, I hope…". His smirk didn't falter at John's pointed finger. "Sherlock, you promised!".

"Yes, yes, I did promise! I vowed to protect your family's life, not to endure a boring, mundane, atrocious Halloween party at my brother's!". The consulting detective let himself fall on the sofa with a dramatic sigh.

"You're such a drama queen...Hurry up, we need to arrive to the shop before it closes! Thank God the shopkeeper is Mrs Hudson's good friend, she's going to let us borrow whichever costume we want!". Mary ushered everyone outside, and with a last greeting to the old woman, they left.

* * *

><p>"Come, come inside! It's raining really hard, isn't it?". The group entered the "Janus' den" with a sigh of relief. The shop's owner, Ms. Hutchinson, offered to each person a towel. "Martha called me to tell you were arriving. Would you like a cup of tea, dears?".<p>

Everyone accepted the kind offer willingly, but Sherlock. "Please, not another useless loss of time! Let's take these flea-bitten costumes and get over with it!".

The old lady looked him from head to toe. "You are Sherlock Holmes...please, follow me to the male section. And you, darlings, take it easy. You can drink your tea, I will be back in a minute". The two turned to the left, leaving Molly, John and Mary alone.

"It's quite cozy, isn't it? A bit cramped, maybe...". John gestured to all the dresses hanging from the racks, that crowded the little shop.

"I have an idea...we won't tell the others what costume we chose, so it could be a surprise! What do you think?". Mary proposed, and her husband nodded. Molly seemed doubtful. "I don't know, what if I need an advice, or some help with the dressing up?".

"Good point Molly...Let's do it this way: we girls will choose our costumes without telling the boys, and vice versa! It's a wonderful idea, isn't it?".

"I beg to diff-". Sherlock's voice cut in, but a pointed look from Molly, just over her cup, hushed him up. "If your gracious Excellences would like to hurry up and take your damned dresses, I will wait for you here...". The consulting detective made a mocking bow, the black clothes cover in his hand touching the floor, and sat down on one the comfy armchairs, the others snorting at his sarcasm.

"Come, my young friends! I think I have already found the best costumes for each of you!". Ms Hutchinson called for them from the bottom of the shop, and The Watsons, with Molly just behind them, complied.

* * *

><p>It didn't take more than ten minutes for Mary and John to find the right attire; Molly instead was hesitant. "I don't know, I don't want anything too revealing..." she gestured to the sexy nurse's and Lara Croft's sets.<p>

"Well, my dear, I think it's time for you to put on display your goods...". Ms Hutchinson winked at her amicably, but Molly turned down the compliment with a shy smile. "I don't think I have any "goods" to show, Ms Hutchinson...".

"Oh, you're talking nonsense! In my youth, I would have made an offering to Satan himself to have your glowing complexion, or luscious hair like yours...But don't worry, I think I have the perfect costume for you!". She returned a few moments later with a dark clothes cover, similar to the one Sherlock had before.

"Try it on, and then you'll tell me. The fitting rooms are there". The gentle woman pointed them out, and Molly followed her instructions.

A few minutes later, the pathologist took a look at her image in the mirror. The shopkeeper was right, it was the right choice...but maybe not the right size, she noted, struggling with the fastening zip on her back.

"Mary, would you help me with the zip, please?"she called. After a minute Molly heard the curtains open and close again, and some dexterous fingers helped her to pull up the zip. She was too occupied with fixing the heart neckline on the front, and when she raised her eyes to the mirror in front of her, she found Sherlock's figure just behind her.

"Mary was unavailable, so I...". He gestured awkwardly at her back, and she suppressed a shiver when his calloused fingertips brushed her nape.

"Thank you...". Their gaze met once again in the mirror, before Sherlock left the cubicle. Mary's voice from outside ("Molly, are you ready?") interrupted her reverie before it could even start. It was simple a kind, harmless gesture from a friend, nothing exceptional. She changed back quickly, and joined the others.

They all thanked the kind woman (even Sherlock, who was the only one who refused her hugs), and her affectionate greetings saw them out. "Have fun! May All Hallow's Eve bless you!".

* * *

><p>When they arrived in front of Mycroft's distinguished house, in Mayfair, Molly asked, doubtful "Are you sure that your brother will allow us to change in here? I thought we were supposed to arrive here already dressed…".<p>

Mary sighed. " But this way, the costumes will remain a surprise till the very last moment!". A grim-looking butler opened the door, and let them in. A tall woman, dressed as Frankenstein's bride, a smartphone glued to her right hand, welcomed them.

" Mr. Holmes told me to lead you to the guests' rooms to let you change your outfit. Mrs. Watson, Ms. Hooper, this way…". Anthea gestured to her left, leaving John and Sherlock in the hall.

Mary took Molly's hand and pulled her away from the men. "See you, guys!".

"Your brother takes this Halloween's party very seriously…" the doctor observed, following his friend who was already on the stairs.

"Yes…A posh party like this one is surely only another occasion for him to form alliances, or to share new confidential information. Surely Mycroft's idea of a fun party doesn't coincide with yours, John".

"Well, let's hope at least the food and drinks are copious…And please, Sherlock, I'm begging you: try to not mess up this party! God knows how much Mary needs a pleasant, enjoyable night out… ".

Finally they arrived in front of two inlaid doors. Sherlock didn't deem John's plea worthy of a reply; he simply opened the door and entered, leaving his best friend behind.

Ten minutes later, the four found themselves back in the hall.

"A vampire?! Really, Sherlock?". Mary couldn't stop her laughing, and John and Molly struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

The consulting detective merely shrugged, completely unfazed, his black and red cloak moving quite like his trademark coat. "It was simply the less dirty costume in the shop…I wish I could tell the same about John's apparel…".

The former army doctor stopped scratching his arm. "I hope there are no fleas…". The werewolf outfit had seemed a good idea at first, but at the moment he was not so sure anymore.

Mary caressed his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, I find it quite sexy…". She raised the white veil, part of her ghost's ensemble, to peck his husband on the lips.

Molly continued to fidget with her broom. It was so light, she didn't even noticed Ms. Hutchinson packing it with her witch's costume. She was glad that the others had still not said anything about her attire, because she was not feeling very confident about it. It was a beautiful black gown, and the pointed hat was funny to don, even if it was a bit unstable when she was walking...but the neckline was too deep, in her opinion, and as she told before, she didn't have anything good to show.

Mary wrapped her arms around her from behind. "Molly, you're gorgeous! Isn't she, John?".

"Mary's right! The dress fits you like a glove...You know, you should wear dresses more often...". Sherlock scoffed at John's comment. "Please! The colour doesn't flatter her complexion at all, and Mary put too much make up on her...". John's elbow colliding with his side stopped his rude observation, but surely it wasn't hard enough to push him backwards. The tall man landed on his bottom inelegantly, an annoyed frown upon his eyes showing how upset he was. Molly refrained herself from helping him to get up; after all, his awkward fall was the same punishment she had imagined in her mind just as she had heard his insults.

Obviously it was then when Mycroft decided to join them...greeted by an unanimous peal of laughter. His costume was an exact replica of Gene Wilder's Dr. Frederik "Fronkenstien"; even the wig was just alike, and paired with Mycroft's pained expression, it made it all even more hilarious.

"Please tell me that there's an Igor somewhere..." John breathed out between the giggles. Even Sherlock, who ignored the nature of his brother's attire, couldn't help but find it exhilarating, even from his spot on the floor.

"Mr and Mrs Watson, Ms. Hooper...Sherlock...". His stern voice sobered them up, and they followed him to the main hall, which was crowded with all sort of disguises. Medieval knights, Venetian ladies, an Inspector Clouseau, a few Marvel heroes, a Jack Sparrow...and many others were divided in little groups, nibbling on the buffet or speaking quietly. A waiter stopped in front of them, and Mycroft, as the impeccable master of the house he was, offered a glass of champagne to each of his guests.

"Enjoy yourself...". He raised his glass, and without waiting for them to take the first sip, he left, reaching a very distinguished-looking van Helsing across the room.

* * *

><p>"Mycroft's house has a lot of empty rooms, thankfully!". Molly murmured, opening a door on the first floor. It opened on a dark study. "Hopefully not Mycroft's..." she wished, closing the door. It wasn't like the party was boring, not at all: the champagne and the wine were superb, tha catering service was probably the best she had ever tried, and the conversation with the other guests quite pleasant and interesting. John and mary surely seemed to enjoy themselves, and Sherlock...Well, he was discreetly sulking by himself, since she had not seen him for a while.<p>

She reached the window, and put the curtain aside. Outside, London's frenetic life overfilled the pavements, and the melancholic feeling of loneliness and yearning washed over her with a surprising strength. She let out a sad sigh, and drank up the remaining champagne in a long sip.

"Have I ever told you how deliciously your heart beats?". Sherlock's deep voice startled her, making the glass fall down. She turned and lowered herself to take the broken glass, and since she was "Clumsy Molly Hooper", she cut herself.

"Damn! Sherlock, it's all your fault!". The culprit sprinted by her side, but seemed strangely fascinated by her bleeding fingertip. His eyes shone in the dark room, and at a glacial pace the pathologist saw his face approaching hers, until he stopped, his nose caressing the side of her throat.

"Sherlock..." she tried to speak, but he hushed her. "Let your pulse talk to me..." he demanded, and ...suddenly the door opened, a dishevelled John Watson making his dramatic entrance.

His normally clear voice was strangely hoarser, and he couldn't stop scratching his arms and neck. "This costume seems glued to my skin...I can feel the hair growing directly on my body!". He found splinters of wood on his hands, that appeared now like wolf's pawns, with long, dirty claws. "I think I destroyed the door...".

"Where's Mary?" Molly asked, and on the instant she felt a cold sensation passing through her body. "I'm right here...". Everyone searched for her, but none could see the former spy in the room.

"Mary, stop joking!". John's voice was verging on panic, and without knowing why he was doing it, he let out an exasperated howl.

"I'm here in the room with you, you moron! And why are you howling!?".

"Mary, I need you to tell me exactly where you are and what you're doing". Sherlock's voice was demanding, while he squinted his eyes in the half-lighted room.

"I'm just beside the armchair...Now I'm sitting down on it...John, would you stop scratching your skin? It's rather disgusting, love...".

John simply grunted, but stopped nonetheless. Sherlock sniffed the air, and his tongue darted out, showing two fangs where his canines should be.

"Sherlock, did you put some fake teeth on?". Molly's question seemed to genuinely puzzle the detective. He let his tongue caress his fangs, and a drop of blood fell on his lips. He licked them clean, savouring the taste with an intensity that scared Molly.

"No...No I didn't...They are my real teeth, and I can't wait to sink them into your tender throat...". Molly remained speechless, Sherlock's piercing stare freezing every muscle on her petite body. She could see his mouth opening in a frightening smirk, while he lowered his teeth to her neck once again. Out of pure instinct she closed her eyes and put her hands on his firm chest, hoping to distance herself from him just enough to escape.

Well, her hope became a reality, when Sherlock hit the opposite wall, like he had been thrown by an invisible force. He only groaned a little, before he got on his feet again. He took off his heavy cloak, and in a blink he was looming over Molly again, his sneer intimidating.

"Something strange is happening here...". Mary's voice was trembling; John turned his head towards the sound, cursing the fur that covered almost all his face and neck. "Don't worry, I'm sure it's only an hallucination. Maybe there was something in the wine, or Sherlock decided to experiment with some drugs on us...".

The detective abandoned his place by Molly's side (wondering where his well-built barriers, defending himself from his ever-present attraction to the pathologist, were gone) and rushed to John, feeling insulted by his best friend's insinuation.

"I don't know any psychotropic drug who can have the effects we are showing...and surely I wouldn't administer them to all of you!". He growled, and the doctor showed him his tusks.

"Would someone explain to me what the hell are you doing here!?". Lestrade appeared at the room's threshold, overstepping the wrecked door. Everyone looked at him, surprised; none had met him at the party, and now they saw that he was dressed as the distinguished vampire hunter Van Helsing they had only glimpsed downstairs, talking to Mycroft. As soon as he approached Sherlock, the tall man pulled back, hissing at the stake and the silver cross the DI was holding in his hands."Go away!" he cried out, withdrawing to the furthest corner of the room.

Lestrade gave him a surprised look, then turned to the pathologist. "Molly, you seem the sanest here: would you tell me what's happening?"

Molly was torn: a part of her felt lured by Sherlock's presence, eager to let his mouth have his way with her throat; the other kept yelling to her to escape, to run away from him. She closed her eyes and just wished the time could stop, to let her brain collect the dots. When she opened her eyes again, everyone was freezed in their last position.

"Oh God..." she cried out. "Please, please, move again!". As the words left her mouth, her friends came alive again, like nothing happened.

Suddenly everything became clear: Mary's disappearance, John's sudden hirsutism and inclination to bark, Sherlock's fascination with blood...her wishes coming true as soon as she thought them, or her ability to send a heavy man flying against a wall when she felt threatened.

"I- I think we are cursed. The costumes...they turned us into the characters we are impersonating. I know it sounds absurd, but it's the only plausible explanation. Mary is a ghost, John is a werewolf, Sherlock a vampire, and I'm a witch".

"No". Sherlock said. "I don't believe in magic. It's impossible, and-".

"Molly is right". Mary's voice boomed. "I was looking at my hands, and I saw them slowly dissolve...Now none can see me, I can't even touch my husband...Oh my god, I will never caress my baby again!". Her anguished cry made John howl once again.

"Where did you buy the costumes?". Lestrade's practical mind sprinted into action.

"One of Mrs Hudson's friends lent them to the four of us. She must know something!". Molly took out her smartphone and noticed an unaswered message in her voicemail from an unknown number. She read it aloud. "By now my little spell has surely come true. There's no need to freak out, my dear kids! All you need to do to come back to your true form is to kiss your true love...a kiss between two persons who love each other! I know, now you're angry, but you will thank me later...well, if you could find me again! Bye, darlings! ". Ms Hutchinson cheerful tone made Molly hate her even more.

"That sly woman...Quick, John! Kiss your wife, I can't wait to strangle that sneaky harpy!". Sherlock ordered, and he felt a creeping shiver on his back.

"What part of "I'm a ghost, I can't touch anything or anyone!" is too difficult for you to understand?!". Mary huffed. "And you call yourself a genius...".

"What do we do now?". Molly sobbed, hopelessly. "We have to find another way...".

"Sherlock...you should tell her". Mary's voice whispered under her breath to Sherlock's ear.

"Tell her what?". The consulting detective retorted, his low tone harsh and gloomy at the same time.

"Fibbing, Sherlock? To me? Do you remember that I can tell when you're lying...?". The former spy scolded him.

"I don't know what are you talking about...".

"You're a deluded moron...Answer me: can you sense my heart? No, you can't...Do you want to sink your fangs into John's, or Greg's neck...or is it only Molly's pulse that makes you so thirsty? The slow heartbeat , that accelerates every time you're near...What would you give to feel it against your lips? I bet her blood tastes deliciously...".

"Enough!". Sherlock shouted, startling the others. "Out, everyone! I need to think...". Reluctantly John, Greg and Molly started to exit the room; Mary had already passed through the wall, and was waiting for them on the stairs.

"Molly...stay. Please". Sherlock's request halted her stride.

"I don't think it's a good idea...". John started to say, but Mary replied "He won't do anything to her, love. Trust me". Persuaded by his wife, the doctor and the DI left the two alone in the room.

"Sherlock...". Molly approached him, aware that she could defend herself, should the need arise. "Do you have any idea about-".

His cold mouth descended on hers, rapacious. His tongue caressed her upper lips, begging for entrance; she granted it to him, with a delighted moan. In his haste, his fangs cut the skin just over her upper lip, and he sucked the drop of blood with lust, making her shiver. After a minute, he stopped. She felt suddenly cold, like he had stolen all the warmth from her body.

"Push me away", he demanded.

Molly tried: she pictured in her mind his body moving away from hers, like she had done before, but nothing happened.

"We are freed!". John broke into the room, but neither Molly nor Sherlock considered him. The consulting detective tongued his canines: they were both back to normal. He stared at Molly, without saying a word.

"Sherlock, I...We should...". He didn't hear the rest of the sentence: he stormed out, without looking back.

She lowered her head, thrusting back the tears; then she feigned a smile to John, Mary and Greg. "I'm a bit tired...Who wants to share a cab with me?".

* * *

><p>When she returned home, half an hour later, Molly found Sherlock on her flat's steps. She tried to make him move, but he remained still, his eyes fixed on her, silent.<p>

"All right, let's do it now. We should probably talk about...Well, you know. About it. What happened was-".

His kiss took literally her breath away. Panting, she tried to read his thoughts just by looking into his bright eyes; to her surprise, she saw her tentative smile reflected in them. She lowered her gaze to his full, reddening mouth, who was beaming at her.

"Best Halloween ever..." she murmured, before capturing his lips again.

**Thanks to my dear Flavialikestodraw, because she prompted this story, and helped me writing it. What would I do without your advices? And thanks everyone for reading...be kind, let me know your thoughts!**


End file.
